


A Hollow Pain

by Tsuki



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: M/M, Roman is bad at feelings, Season/Series 03, Season/Series 03 Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 04:14:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5077411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tsuki/pseuds/Tsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Spoilers for Season 3, Episode 7) Roman remembers what it is like—the loss of Peter. It is a hollow pain, and one which leads him to make a very particular choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Hollow Pain

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, Hemlock Grover, why can't I quit you? I wrote this mid-way through viewing the final season because I just had to explore the look on Roman's face and what must be going through his head in this critical scene. Spoilers for the end of Season 3, Episode 07; last chance to turn back!

Roman remembers what it is like—the loss of Peter. It is a hollow pain, one which, when he felt it the first time, left him an empty vessel, a black hole full of nothing. He remembers it starting with a physical ache deep in his stomach and clawing outward, tearing and rending until he is empty. The wounds he has seen this past month from the mutated vampires, the ones who have been ravaging _Upirs_ , look to Roman like that pain manifest.

Roman has felt other pains, of course, but none that bad. Getting his hand broken in a fight in middle school, well that had a certain amount of thrill to it. Cutting his arms after his mother tried to manipulate him, that was colored with a deep, red sense of relief. The loss of Letha, well, that hurt like a stab wound, sharp and deep. And the long, dark period when Shelley was missing, daily he felt a sweet, dull, longing ache. Nearly every time he sees his mother, his fury and hatred burns like a fire, alive and scalding under his skin—painful but strangely satisfying.

He’s sure that nothing has felt like the loss of Peter. Nothing.

Lately, Roman hasn’t thought of that pain though, of that feeling. Oh, he’s thought of loss. Nadia is still missing and there’s not a day that goes by that Roman doesn’t feel a phantom ache in his heart. But Peter can see the look in his eye when that pain emerges and so it has often been calmed by a warm hand on his shoulder or a reassuring “I know—we’ll find them.” On some nights, when they both feel the pain of loss, there are deep, dark kisses, hands pulling each other closer, hot breaths intermingling until that pain is replaced with a cooling balm of lust and comfort and maybe even something resembling love. Maybe.

The return of Peter into Roman’s life has healed some of those invisible claw wounds, has filled a bit of the emptiness left behind. Peter now has his own key to Roman’s place, and even before he asked to crash there for a while, small tokens of him had begun to fill the empty, cleanly modern setting that Roman had previously so carefully cultivated to be empty. A small bunch of sage here. A chipped coffee cup there. A leather bracelet left behind, which Roman tucked away for a reason he couldn’t possibly explain out loud—but he knows that every time he looks at it, that small leather band, he smiles and feels a little more whole.

But still—occasionally—Roman remembers the feeling. He remembers crying and screaming at nothing at all. He remembers his mother offering, in her syrupy smooth voice, to get him whatever he needed. He remembers the wet, sinking feeling as he choked out “Peter” and knew that his desire couldn’t be granted. He remembers standing in Peter’s former home, staring at the dust particles floating in the mid-day sun because acknowledging the emptiness of the trailer was just too much to bear.

He remembers the feeling of claws. Of being hollowed out. Of feeling like he was dying, and on some level knowing perhaps he was.

Destiny punching him now, that doesn’t hurt much, all things considered. But it does infuriate him. Destiny has attacked his pride, has refused to listen to him at all, and she is, he thinks honestly, just being a real cunt. Lashing out in response, his hand connecting with her face, the cartilage breaking under his fingers with ease—well, that’s just a natural reaction. He doesn’t feel especially pained about it, just irritated and vengeful.

But when she crashes through the glass table, when Roman sees the blood pooling behind her skull, the memory sets in. The emptiness. The clawing.

He can see the future happening—Destiny in the hospital, her skull wrapped in bandages and IVs hooked into her arms. Peter would stand vigil beside her bed, eyes like glass pools, wide in concern for his cousin. When Destiny finally awakes, she would stare at Peter and tell him, with a trembling voice and with terror communicated in her expression in that way only women can,  that it was all Roman’s fault.  And Peter would look up, his eyes cold. He would look at Roman the way he did last time, when he left. He would shut him out. He would never forgive him. Not for hurting Destiny. Not for hurting his kin.

Roman can hear Annie crying out now, urging Roman to call an ambulance. But the sound is muffled by the sound of memories and emptiness and claws. And so Roman reaches down, softly caressing Destiny’s face a moment as he curses her existence, curses that Peter cares for her and that she can inflict the worst pain Roman has ever experienced on him all over again.

He won’t feel that again. He won’t.   

Roman shifts his hands resolutely, the sound of Destiny’s neck snapping echoing in the empty room. Empty except for Roman, Annie, a corpse, and the hint of memories that Roman refuses to have clawed from him. So—he thinks as he sighs in relief, Annie’s voice still cracking in sadness and in shock behind him—not actually empty at all.


End file.
